


The Bodyguard's Hitman

by that1crazaychik



Category: The Hitman's Bodyguard (2017)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Hurt!Michael, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Protective!Kincaid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that1crazaychik/pseuds/that1crazaychik
Summary: Michael Bryce thought he was finally done with Darius Kincaid after y'know... taking a bullet for him. But when he's almost killed by his mailman, he knows he's not off the hook yet... {Set three and a half weeks after the events of the movie} {AmeliaxBryce}





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Reader, you are obviously here because you enjoyed The Hitman's Bodyguard as much as I did. (just a guess). I absolutely loved the film and thought that Ryan and Sam Jackson where splendid, and so were their characters. The chemistry was just jumping off the screen, so naturally, I had to write about these two. And here is the result... enjoy!

Amelia drifted slowly awake, the sunlight streaming in from the window gently caressing her face. She opened her eyes and blinked heavily as they adjusted to the sudden burst of sunlight. She turned over in the bed, putting her back to the window and shielding her eyes from the sun. She smiled when she saw the man sleeping peacefully next to her. It was a very rare occasion to see Michael without his eyebrows furrowed in complete concentration or focus. He constantly had his game face on and it was almost euphoric when Amelia could make him smile. Before…

She pushed the thought out of her mind. Yes, Michael had been a child, but somehow she always put a bit of the blame of their failed relationship on herself. And how could she not when Michael had been so genuinely hurt by her. As euphoric as his smile was when she saw him with nothing but pain in his eyes it damn near killed her.

But they were forgetting about that. Finally. They wiped the slate clean. And as she stared down at him she could feel the euphoria slowly ebbing its way into her heart once more. Not being able to help herself, she reached out and stroked his hair gently, being careful to mind the still healing cuts on his forehead.

Michael stirred slightly and Amelia pulled her hand back.

"Sorry..." she said softly, "did I wake you?"

"Nah…" He said, eyes drifting closed again as his arm lightly wrapped around his side. He grimaced slightly. "I've been awake basically all night."

Amelia pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at Michael, a concerned look on her face. He had in fact only been three and a half weeks since he'd been shot, and a few days since he'd been released from the hospital. She practically forced him to stay with her, not wanting to let him out of her sight again. That and she knew he'd been basically living out of his car.

"Did you take something… for the pain?" She asked.

"Yeah… I'll have to wait for another…" He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, "six hours."

The slight movement made him grimace again and Amelia bit back a smile.

"You know…" She said, letting her fingers draw light circles on his chest. "Getting shot made you much sexier."

Michael laughed softly… euphorically, then put his hand over her's and held it affectionately.

"Really?" he said slyly, kissing her hand gently, "I should have gotten shot sooner."

He grabbed her head gently with his other hand and pulled her in for a kiss since it was too difficult and painful for him to move otherwise. They stayed there for a bit, the kisses got better and better until Amelia reluctantly had to pull away.

"I have to go to work." She said sadly.

"Nah C'mon… stay…" Michael tried to pull her in again. She placed a hand on his chest.

"If I don't go to work who's going to pay my rent?" She asked with mock authority.

"Maybe I could…" Michael said, kissing her hand again. Amelia tried to fight back the smile spreading on her face.

"Did you just ask to move in?" she asked, surprised.

"Maybe," Michael replied innocently.

"Michel Bryce you sneaky son of a –"

"Ooow"

She went to kiss him again, almost rolling on top of him, which warranted the cry of pain.

"Sorry…" she said sincerely. "I really do have to go to work."

"Alright…" he said, pushing himself up with a pained groan

"Uh-unh, you're staying in bed..." she said, easily pushing him back down, "The doctor said you need to rest."

"Can't you stay in bed with me?" He said. She smiled.

"I have to go to work." She leant down and gave him another kiss before pushing herself off the bed and getting dressed. "Besides, I still need to finalize that deal to get you back to elite status. If you want me to do that you have to let me go to work."

He grabbed her wrist as she walked by and pulled her close again.

"I could honestly care less about my job right now." He said, the look in his eyes telling her he was never going to let go of her again, metaphorically speaking. She smiled again, holding back a small laugh.

"You really have changed." She leant down again and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "But I still have to go to work and you still need to get some rest."

"Okay..." he said reluctantly giving her back her hand. "Only because you insisted…" He said, his eyes already drifting closed again.

"Call me if you need anything. But not if you're just going to whine." She said, pulling on her jacket and heading out. She paused at the door and turned back to the man lying in her bed.

"Je t'aime." She said quietly.

"Je t'aime aussi." He slurred back, already half asleep.

Amelia smiled and reluctantly backed out of the bedroom.

-*{HITMAN'S BODYGUARD}*-

Michael awoke the second time to a loud knocking at the door. It took until the second set of knocks hit the door for him to open his eyes. He slowly and gingerly pushed himself up out of bed until he was sitting with his legs hanging off the side. He took a deep breath, trying to mentally soothe the pain in his side. Just getting himself out of bed took maximum effort. Upon the third set of knocks, he grabbed his crutches, which were leaning against the nightstand, and began his long, hobbling trek to the apartment door.

By the time he reached the living room the knocking at the door intensified. Michael rolled his eyes, not bothering to change his pace.

"I'm coming!" he called out, annoyed. Once he made it to the door, he leant close and looked through the peephole. A big blond man in a postal uniform stood on the other side, holding a small package. He didn't seem threatening, but Michael was pretty sure Amelia hadn't ordered anything off Amazon recently. He opened the door awkwardly, every movement made increasingly difficult by the crutches.

"Hello, can I help you?" he asked the man tiredly.

"Yes… I have a package for a Michael Bryce…" the man said, with a trace of an accent, maybe Russian.

Michael's first thought was  _I didn't order anything_. But then the fog started to clear from his mind.

"Sorry… there's no Michael Bryce living here." He said, starting to close the door.

"Wait!" The man lunged forward and put his hand on the door, holding it open. He looked right into Michael's eyes with a heavy gaze. "Are you sure? Because this is the address I was given."

Michael broke eye contact long enough to see the gun on the man's side, no longer hidden by his jacket.

_Ah shit._

The man dropped the package, quickly drew his weapon and pointed it at Michael. Michael dropped his crutches and, sliding quickly up against the door, he grabbed the man's wrist, shoving his arm against the doorframe. Then he quickly lifted the man's arm over his shoulder and slammed it down, ripping the gun from the other man's hands. Before he could turn around and use it, however, the man tackled him causing the gun to fly out of his hand and skidded away under the couch. The man threw Michael into the wall behind him, causing him to hit his head hard. An explosion of pain burst through the back of his head and erupted in his already wounded side. Michael couldn't help but cry out in pain. His cry was cut short when the man grabbed Michael by his throat.

Michael clawed at the man's hands, beating on his arms with all his might but they wouldn't budge. He threw a few punches at the man's head but they failed to land, the pain in his side and shortage of oxygen pulling out any strength he had left. Michael slowly started to sink down the wall, his fighting growing weaker while the man's grip around his throat was growing stronger. The room around him began to swim and he could hear his heartbeat throbbing through his head. Was this seriously how he was going to die?

Just before it all went dark, he heard a muffled shot, and the man released him, falling to the ground beside him. Michael took a huge gasp of air, renewing the pain in his side. He resorted to quicker shallower breaths, but the pain was still too overwhelming. He felt the world continue to blur around him and began to fall sideways onto the floor until a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and steadied him against the wall. And even though Michael couldn't focus on the person's face, he knew exactly who it was.

"Damn Bryce, you're off your game, son!" Kincaid said, looking down at the guy whose head he just exploded. "You sure you're ready for that 'Triple-A' bullshit again?"

"Fuck me…" was all Michael could manage, and with that he let himself slip away into the darkness.

-*{HITMAN'S BODYGUARD}*-

Michael woke up the third time to a gentle jostling, his face pressed up against a cool window and a dull ache in his head and side. At first, he was met with confusion. He had no clue where he was or how he got there. What followed next was panic, but he quickly shoved that down, turning on his 'cop brain' instead. He didn't open his eyes, not until he figured out if he was in potential danger. Given that he was in the seated position, with something strapped across his stomach and chest and the light jostling, Michael came to the conclusion that he was in a moving vehicle. But who was the driver and where was he being taken? Before he could deduce anything else he heard a voice come from his right.

"It's just me Bryce; you don't have to plot an escape route." Kincaid said snidely.

Michael sighed as his memory came flooding back. Amelia's apartment, the big Russian mailman… Kincaid. He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to face Kincaid. He was too tired to say anything snarky back so he just stared at the man. He had really hoped he would never see Kincaid again. Yet here he was a mere three and a half weeks since their last encounter.

Kincaid must've been surprised by Michael's silence because he took his eyes off the road to give him a quick once over. Was Michael seeing things or did Darius Kincaid just look seriously concerned about him? Michael pushed the thought out of his head, replacing it with his most pressing question.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, wincing as Kincaid hit a bump making his side scream. "And why aren't you in jail?" he finished through gritted teeth.

"Funny story…" Kincaid started, hitting another large bump. "I was in prison, minding my own business when this guy comes up to me in the yard and tries to shank me. Well, I beat his punk ass and before I shank him, he tells me he worked for Dukhovich, and how I made some very powerful people very angry by finishing the guy. He goes on to tell me there's guys on the outside who are out for revenge, how they're going to go after everyone I care about…  _yadda-yadda_. So naturally, I gotta spring out."

"Naturally…" Michael replied, leaning his head back on the window.

"Exactly! So," Kincaid continued, not skipping a beat, "I spring out, I find Sonia and make sure she's safe. Turns out some guys already tried coming for her and she scared 'em off!"

Kincaid laughed loudly, causing Michael's headache to flare up.

"God, I love that woman." Kincaid continued, "So… my next move was finding you."

They came to a stop at a red light and Michael had trouble processing what he just heard. When he turned to Kincaid with confusion all over his face (he was too tired to hide his emotions right now), Kincaid was already looking at him.

"Did you just–? Does that mean–?" Michael couldn't find the words he was looking for. Luckily, Kincaid could.

"Yes Bryce, that means I care about you." Kincaid looked back at the road as the light turned green; "All 200 pounds of emotional stupidity… give or take" He finished under his breath. Michael obviously didn't hear him.

"So that guy back there?" Michael asked, pointing behind him even though he had no idea where he was. "That was…"

"One of Duckhovich's guys, yeah." Kincaid finished for him. "You're lucky they only sent one at a time, or we'd be screwed."

"Yeah…" Michael responded, barely processing what Kincaid said.  _And thank god Amelia wasn't there_ , he thought,  _she could've gotten seriously hurt…_

"Amelia!" Michael exclaimed, bolting upright, then immediately regretting it. He bit back the pain. "Amelia, I gotta call Amelia…" He said, grimacing and clutching his side.

"Don't worry about that, I got it covered," Kincaid replied, shooting another worried glance at the man in the passenger seat. "I already told her what's up; she's meeting us at the safehouse."

"Safehouse…?" Michael mumbled quietly, his eyelids slowly closing.

"Yeah Bryce," Kincaid replied, "Someone's out there tryna kill you!"

Michael let out a little chuckle, eyes drifting all the way closed. Kincaid shot him another concerned look.

"I've never been the client before…" he said quietly.

Kincaid smirked and gave a small chuckle, "I've never really been the one protecting before…" He looked over at Bryce and even though he knew the man was already fast asleep, he added: "And I don't even need no 'Triple-A' bullshit!"


	2. Chapter 2

Amelia paced a groove in the floor of the safe house. It was an old rundown apartment that Michael had still been paying rent on, and thank god he had. She’d received an alarming call from none other than Darius Kincaid about half an hour ago. Michael had been attacked at the apartment. Fortunately, Darius had gotten there in time. Unfortunately, Darius was a wanted criminal and fugitive. 

At least Amelia was able to sneak away from work. Her apartment _had_ been broken into and she needed to attend to her injured boyfriend. There was no need to mention Russian assassins and fugitive hitmen… right? Especially if the fugitive hitman just saved Michael’s life…

The buzzing of the doorbell brought her out of her thoughts. She checked the door cam and was relieved to see Michael and Darius on the screen, bickering back and forth.  She opened the door and threw her arms around Michael, catching him by surprise.

“Hey.” He said soothingly into her hair. He tried to hug her back but the crutches made it difficult.

She stepped back and gave him a quick once over. He looked exhausted and was leaning heavily on his crutches. He was barefoot, still in pajamas and there was a small spot of blood on his grey t-shirt where he’d been shot. Obviously the wound had been aggravated and began to bleed again.

“Are you okay?” She asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him into the apartment.

“Yeah… fine.” He said quickly, putting a little too much effort into walking for Amelia’s comfort.  But she didn’t press any further. She turned to the other man who was still standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Kincaid.” Amelia held out her hand.

“Agent Roussel.” Kincaid took her hand and shook it. “It’s great to see you again.”

“You should be in prison,” she said to Kincaid, with mock firmness, “But you’re welcome to stay for a bit."

Kincaid smiled and followed her into the apartment.  Michael had already situated himself against the kitchen island, inspecting his bloody bandage.

“Let me help,” Amelia said, walking into the kitchen to find the first aid kit.

Kincaid walked past Michael to peek out the window.

It was a small apartment, tight for three people to move around in. The front door opened into a small dining area/front entrance which connected imediatly to the kitchen. The kitchen was small, rimmed with cupboards and an island in the middle. At the far end of the kitchen was the bedroom door, slightly open. On the other side of the kitchen cupboards was a tiny living room, with only a couch and the window, which was facing the kitchen. Small. Tight. Rundown...   

“Cozy... not as nice as your place in Amsterdam, but it will do,” Kincaid said, tapping the glass lightly before walking back past Michael.

“It won’t be for long,” Michael said through gritted teeth, as he peeled the bloody bandage off.  “I’ll be fine back at the apartment; I really don’t need a safe house.”

Kincaid laughed loudly.

“I think you’re forgetting about the big Russian dude who nearly popped your head off this morning.” He said.

Michael winced as Amelia cleaned and rebandaged his wound. She smirked slightly.

“He just caught me off guard…” Michael said, pulling his shirt down over the bandage. “I could’ve handled it.”

“Motherfucker please!”  Kincaid laughed, “You’re just lucky _I_ was there to save your ass.”

“And I appreciate that but…”

“But what?” Darius prodded.

“But, I am a professional protection agent, I think I can take care of myself.” Michael retorted quickly.

“Except for the part where you didn’t,” Darius answered just as quickly.

“Oh, and you think you did better?” Michael asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I definitely topped your ‘Triple-A service’ bullshit!” Darius replied. He was never going to let that go, was he?

“You basically abducted me!” Michael snapped back, in defense.

“You’d be dead if I hadn’t!” Kincaid quipped back.

“Boys, please…” Amelia called from the kitchen.

Michael’s attention was quickly drawn away from what Kincaid was saying, to a small red dot appearing on the other man’s chest. He followed the tiny red beam from Kincaid’s chest to the window.

It took Michael a split second to react, and the same amount of time to regret his reaction.

“Darius, get down!”

He tackled Kincaid to the ground, basically landing on top of him; resulting in a blast of pain shooting through his side so intense it sent stars through his vision.

“What the fu- ” was all Kincaid could say before the shot hit the glass. “Oh shit!”

Michael flinched hard, bracing himself, but was confused when he didn’t feel or hear the cascade of glass from the surely shattered window behind them. He looked back at the window when Kincaid answered his unspoken question.

“It’s bulletproof glass, Bryce.” He said with a pained groan.

Michael was in too much pain to answer… or be embarrassed. He rolled over onto his back, next to  Kincaid, trying to breathe through the pain.

That’s when the second, third and fourth shots hit the window and the glass finally shattered, showering the two men as bullets sailed past their heads.

“Shit!” Kincaid cursed, covering his face with his arms. Amelia jumped for cover behind the kitchen cupboards.

“Over here!” She yelled over the sound of the shots being fired.

Michael honestly couldn’t move and responded only with a groan of pain. Luckily Kincaid got quickly to a crouch, grabbed Michael by the shoulders and dragged him through the glass to cover. Amelia helped him prop Michael up against the kitchen cupboards once they were out of the line of fire, his back to the window.

“I thought you said you weren’t followed!” Amelia shouted. She had her gun pulled out and at the ready, looking for her opportunity to return fire.

“I wasn’t,” Kincaid called back, pulling out his own gun. “They must’ve followed you!”

“Does it really matter?” Michael, who was sitting between the two and not appreciating the shouting in his ears, yelled back.

Amelia stood slightly from her crouch, just enough to see over the counter. She was met with three bullets ricocheting off the counter where her head used to be.

“Shit.” She said as she sunk to the floor. “Darius, there’s a fire escape through the bedroom window,” She pointed to the slightly open door on the other side of the kitchen.

“I’ll draw their fire. You need to get Michael out.”

“What?” Michael looked at her, surprised. More gunshots burst the empty cookie jar on the counter above them.

“Are you insane, Amelia? I’m not leaving you.” Michael said firmly, though really just the thought of leaving her filled him with pure fear.

“Looks like you don’t have a choice.” She said, gazing deep into his eyes. She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll be fine" She smiled slightly, and Michael's heart melted. That sure didn't help.

“Darius. Now!”

She quickly swapped spots with the hitman, who was closer to the edge of the counter and began to return fire. Kincaid holstered his weapon, grabbed Michael and literally dragged him towards the bedroom door. They crawled into the bedroom, and Darius quickly closed the door behind them.

Kincaid pulled Bryce up to his feet and rushed to the window, throwing it open. He turned to the other man, motioning for him to go first.

Michael was slumped against the wall, barely able to stand without the crutches. He shot Kincaid an apologetic look. No one liked being stuck with the injured guy.

Nevertheless, Darius crawled through the window and onto the fire escape. He turned back to the window and held out his hands, ready to help.  Michael and gingerly climbed out the window, relying heavily on Kincaid. Once on the fire escape, Kincaid grabbed Michaels arm, strung it over his shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Michael’s waist. Together they made it down the fire escape and into the back alley behind the building, Kincaid carrying most of Michael’s weight. Once on the ground, Kincaid helped Michael steady himself against the building wall.

“Stay here.” He said, “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Michael nodded, leaning heavily against the wall. He tried his hardest to act normal, but his side was literally _screaming_ in agony, wailing and protesting at every move. Plus, the alley was starting to swim around him. He took a few deep breaths until his vision finally cleared. He closed his eyes, thankful for the moment of silence.

_Wait… what happened to the gunfire?_

That’s when he felt the pressure of a gun barrel against the back of his head, followed by a vice grip on his shoulder.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, putting his one hand up, while the other clutched his aching side.

“So you are bodyguard.” His captor said in a thick Russian accent. “Not very good if you can’t protect yourself.”

Michael closed his eyes, waiting for the shot to come. The man was right. Michael was completely and utterly helpless. How could he let this happen?

There was one thing they both forgot. Darius Kincaid was on his side.

“Motherfucker, I left you for one minute.”

Michael looked up to see Kincaid walking back up the alley towards them, gun in hand and pointed at the pair. He felt a wave of relief flood through him… until the grip on his shoulder tightened and the gun pressed harder against his head.

“Don’t move Mr. Kincaid. Or your precious bodyguard gets bullet in's skull.”

Kincaid stopped but kept his weapon raised and aimed.

_Precious?_ Michael’s pain hazy brain thought, _what is that supposed to mean._

“Let. him. go.” Darius simply stated. The only threat he needed was the look in his eyes. Michael felt his captor creep closer behind him, using him as a shield.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Kincaid.” The man said, pulling Michael out towards the middle of the alley. “We warned you. You are going to pay for the murder of Vladislav Dukhovich, one person at a time.”

It took a while for the last line to sink into Michael’s brain, partly because it was paired with a gun barrel being shoved deeper into his skull. But mostly because Michael really didn’t think Kincaid cared about him… at all, let alone consider him worthy enough to be used as "revenge bait". Because why would he?

Michael was a straight-laced, grade-A prick with a stick shoved up his ass most of the time, who protected other, richer pricks for a living. Kincaid was literally the complete and utter opposite of him in any possible way. Yet he’d saved Michael’s life more times than he could count.

Darius Kincaid _cared_ about Michael Bryce.

And… somehow… Michael Bryce cared about Darius Kincaid too.

And he sure as hell was not going to let those facts be used against either of them.

Michael looked up at Darius, and their gazes locked. He gave the other man a slight nod as if to say: _I’ve got this._

A split second later, Michael stomped on his captor’s toe, and whipped around, beginning the frenzied struggle for the other man's weapon.

Kincaid, shocked once more at Bryce’s stupidity, ran towards the pair.

Too late.

A gunshot went off and the wrestling pair separated. Michael stumbled towards Kincaid, back still turned and slightly hunched over, his hands clutched in front of him.

“Shit. Bryce!”

_Not again…_ Kincaid thought. It nearly killed him the first time this man got shot for him, and last time he lived. He couldn’t stand it if…

Kincaid rushed to fill the last few meters separating him and his friend.

When he was still a few steps away the Russian man collapsed to the alley floor, a bullet in his chest. Michael turned towards Kincaid, gun in hand.  

“You know, you really should keep your weapon on safety in situations like these. I mean, there’s a reason why they have that feature,” Michael said, breathlessly.

Kincaid stood there, shocked. A small smile started to spread its way onto Michael’s face.

“You crazy son of a bitch.” Kincaid laughed. Michael chuckled softly with him… until his knees buckled and he started to collapse to the cold, wet concrete.

“Shit.” He cursed, trying to catch himself with one hand and clutch his wounded side with the other. Luckily Kincaid was there to catch him before he fell completely to the ground.

“Come on Bryce,” Kincaid said, slowly lifting the other man back to his feet. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”


End file.
